No means no

My toddler’s favourite thing to say to me is “mummy says ‘no means no'”. And I do. I believe it and I hope he believes it too. 

I try not to say it too often – and generally use it when safety is a concern (for example if I don’t want him climbing on something, running near the road etc). 

In other instances where I could say no I try my very best to use different phrases – for example ‘we’re not going to do that right now’ and try to give a reason for it. This way I hope when I do say no – he knows that mummy means no. And it’s not up for negotiation. 

The problem with honey

The other day I was rushing round the supermarket with a calm child (having been plied with babybel to buy me 5 minutes of not hearing ‘downnn’ or ‘puhp’). As per with my angel of a child (during aisles 1, 2 & 3 until we reach the milk aisle) an older lady (in her 70’s) commented on what a lovely healthy child he was and how nice it was to see him eating something that wasn’t organic. She then proceeded to tell me her life story; on one hand this was fine as I’d gone to asda as our daily activity and it was nice to have some adult interaction, but on the other hand I could see the babybel in his hand quickly being demolished so knew my time was very limited – we were nowhere near the milk aisle! 

Her son apparently only cooks using organic ingredients for his precious daughter and it drives this old dear insane. And honey?! Well don’t even get her started on honey! We alllll had honey and we’re fine! 

But the problem is, some of us weren’t. One day, somewhere very sad and very unfortunate, a little baby died due to the spores in honey. Then perhaps another baby died. Perhaps there were only a few – but enough to make the WHO (world health organisation) change their advice. So I get that most of us survived. And that is wonderful. But if there is the smallest chance my baby would not be with me today because of a wee drop of honey, then he can go without thanks very much. 

Middle-class child

Whilst driving today, Baby L began having a meltdown shouting ‘mum mum mum mum!!!!’ Over. And over. And over again. I tried talking, singing, and eventually ignoring. After a few more minutes of ‘muuuuum muuuum muuuuum muuuuuum’ I exclaimed ‘whaaaaat do you want?!’ And this tiny little delicate voice replied ‘….salmon’.

😳

I love the weight of babies

I love the weight of babies. Is that weird?! I’ve always said it and always will. There’s something about the weight of a baby that I just absolutely adore. I love the way they feel in your hands (or arms when they get as big as mine!). I love their slumped feeling. Like they trust you so much in the world that they’re more than happy to wriggle and snuggle and twist and turn all the while fully expecting you to continue holding them safely in your arms. 

But there’s something specifically about their weight. Maybe it’s fitting all their human-being-ness into such a tiny little light-but-deceptively-heavy package. How do you get so much human into such a little cute package?! They’re so clever and pick things up so fast yet no one explains most things to them and they’ve not been around for very long at all. But they’re so clever. And so small. And so darn cuddly. I’m pretty sure the best things do come in small packages. Small, wriggly, innocent packages. 

Is it Stockholm Syndrome?!

I’m pretty sure I’ve got Stockholm Syndrome. For those of you who don’t know what that is, Stockholm Syndrome derives from the case of a bank robbery in Stockholm where some of the hostages empathised and ultimately fell in love with their captors. 

I definitely have this for/with my 1-year-old son. He bites me. He laughs with glee when the sound of the contact between his open palm and my chest reverberates through the air. He lies across my neck in bed at night, but since he’s finally comfy I couldn’t possibly move him. He demands all of my food (despite him having exactly the same of his own on his own plate). He wants up up up just to wriggle and writhe to get down again. He wants me to be in the room with him and watch him bounce on his trampoline and be ready to catch him and lift him down the exact milli-second he demands so. 

But I love him. I love him sooooooo much and I desperately want him to love me back. I’ve lost the plot. I’ve definitely got Stockholm Syndrome. 

Breastfeeding Tips

I had hoped to be a magical pregnancy unicorn. Everyone else around me was and I’d practised waddling like a pregnant lady since I was little so I was pretty sure my body was prepared for what lay ahead. It wasn’t. It broke me (quite literally in two). 

So, I thought, okay okay post-birth will be my thang. I’ll nail this breastfeeding malarkey. Naht. Not to be. Where’s the fun in that? 

However what my body didn’t know is that this was mind over matter. This wasn’t a pelvis splitting, or vomiting up everything I ate, or a massive hernia becoming overly distended. I could control this. 

And sure enough, 4.5 months later (that’s 18 weeks, 139 days, or more appropriately (since I awake for 3331 of them) 3336 hours) I had endured hell, but I had succeeded. Screw you body. I win. 

For 3336 hours I had sat, primarily top-naked, baby in one hand and boob in the other and tried technique after recommendation after theory after YouTube clip. I tried everything I could get my hands on. And unfortunately everything that combined to work didn’t come from the same site. So, here is a list of facts about breastfeeding that I personally found useful. I hope one of them helps you too. 

1. Get naked. Get your baby naked (nappy optional). Have constant skin-to-skin. In my rush to make everything perfect I got too clinical too quickly. Relax and snuggle with your baby – it’s miraculous what this does for your hormones. 

2. Do not sit up straight whilst relaxing your shoulders – this is virtually impossible. Instead, find an angle that works for you and your baby simultaneously (fyi the perfect angle is different for everyone). 

3. Try lying down. I got so exhausted and overwhelmed with instructions that I lay down through pure necessity. And it was spectacular. Lying down gave the baby room and scope to wriggle and make himself comfortable – I wasn’t holding him or tilting him or manipulating him into a ridiculous position – he simply did what made him happy. Ultimately that’s what made breastfeeding work for us. 

4. Drink loads of milk. Not because it’ll go straight into your boobs but because it’ll keep you hydrated and provide you with vital protein. 

5. Your baby will most likely not tilt his/her head back like the ones in the ‘helpful’ breastfeeding videos. Your baby is a newborn and not a 3-month-old breastfeeding veteran. So don’t hold your breathe for that bloody head-tilt. 

6. Squeeze your boob. Cup your hand under your boob and make it more vertical-sandwich-shaped to go along with your baby’s mouth (i.e. don’t squeeze from the side in the classic C-shape as this just makes it even more awkward to fit into your baby’s mouth). Squeeze as it increases milk flow and will help your baby learn that they’re getting there. 

7. Bottle feed to supplement if your baby needs it. This will give them extra energy for breastfeeding, not detract from successful feeding. They love their mama and will do anything to be close to you so don’t worry about confusion. They’ve just been born screaming into this world – they’re pretty good at accepting most things as the norm. 

8. Be prepared for the hormone dump. Day 5 perfectly combines dumping every hormone your body can find on you causing you to be extraordinarily unstable whilst being the number of days by which your baby should be putting on weight. This can result in your midwife telling you that you are ‘starving your baby’ and ‘he’s crying because of you’. Neither of these statements are helpful and when sleep deprived and hormone dumped it is impossible to cope with. Give your baby a bottle, go for a nap, and start the day again. Go back to point number 1. 

9. Get a new midwife if your current one is useless.

10. Have patience. Lots and lots of it. Breastfeeding won’t happen straight away, but it will happen if you persevere. Keep going. Try loads of different things and see what works. Unfortunately something that works one day might not work the next – but that statement is true for all things baby-related. And breastfeeding is no different. 

11. Don’t feel guilty about Facebook stalking or keeping up with the kardashians whilst breastfeeding. I literally NEVER put my baby down (even popping to the loo was a mission) so I needed something to ease the mind-numbing stillness and searing pain that is the first few weeks of breastfeeding.

12. It hurts. Not necessarily sharp but like a grating pain over and over and it can get too much – especially at the 23rd hour of the day. Use lanolin. It’s magical. 

13. It gets better. A lot better. And it is truly wonderful. Don’t ever think you can’t do it – everyone can. It’s just a matter of how hard you try. And if you want it – it’ll happen. Though if you fancy/end up bottle feeding that’s cool too. Don’t be hard on yourself – you’re feeding your baby and that’s what counts. 

The time my baby gave me Hand, Foot & Mouth Disease.

I try to be a good mum. I strive to get exactly the right balance between letting my child explore and sterilising everything to death. I don’t want him to get germs, but I don’t want him to have loads of allergies in later-life as he’s never encountered germs before either.  

I take my little one to lots of baby classes – sensory, signing, yoga, zoo tots, bookbug; you name it and we’ve probably done it. And I allow him to explore and play throughout these classes without rushing around and spraying other children with disinfectant. I’m nice like that. But it does make me itchy just watching the germs crawl up his hands and arms as he wriggles and squirms and frolics on the ground. But he’s having fun, so I sit there itching. And assuming I’m doing what’s best for my son. 

Then one day when we were out for lunch I noticed a little spot on his hand, but assumed he’d bitten his hand (not uncommon) and it had gone a bit red. Then a friend commented on how chickenpox was doing the rounds and I suddenly diagnosed him with it. In a mild panic I text my husband who questioned if he had them on his torso (classically that’s where chickenpox starts). Nope. Nothing there. Hmm. Then back came the text ‘Perhaps he has Hand, Foot & Mouth Disease?’. 

WHAT?! 

He has mad cow disease?! How on earth did he manage that? Is he going to die?!

No. Calm down crazy lady. Hand, Foot & Mouth Disease is unrelated (then why, pray tell, is the name soooo similar?!). Anyways, a quick GP appointment was booked and off I went. 

The GP didn’t even look at my son’s hands and feet (which by now – within a few hours) were covered in blisters. I asked about treatment and quarantine time and if I was likely to get it – nope nope nope came the response. Alright then. Home I go. 

I administered calpol and lots of cuddles and it seemed to help the wee trooper. The worst he ever seemed was a bit droopy and hot for a few hours so I did my best to keep him cool and comfortable. I snuggled him as best I could without getting him too hot and played and read with him. 

Then I started to feel a bit fluey. Hmm. That’s odd. But not too surprising as I’ve had more colds and been more ill since having him than ever before. Thanks baby. 

Then the shakes started. Then the shivers. Then the fever. Then the blisters came. Under my nails and all round my mouth and cheeks. My entire throat became one large ulcer and it was agony to swallow. The ulcers crept forward through my mouth.  I was pretty sure I was dying. 

Are. You. Kidding. Me. 

I thought I couldn’t get it?! Apparently you can’t, unless you’re exhausted and immunocompromised. Cue me. 

I felt absolutely dreadful – how did my baby manage to stay happy and smiley for those few days?! I had only given him calpol as a last resort to ‘ease his discomfort’ and here I was drugging myself to the eyeballs, almost to the point of numbness, so that I couldn’t feel anything. My tiny little baby was better at manning-up than I was. 

It was absolutely horrendous. I’ve never been ill like it. I was almost paralysed with ulcer-all-over-the-mouth discomfort. And yes, that is possible. 

A few drug-induced days passed and fortunately I started to recover. None of my nails fell off (which is quite common?!) but a few still have large gaping holes where the top few layers of nail fell off. Deeelightful. 

Now begs the question – do I take that bottle of disinfectant with me and spray everything in sight?! Or live to get sick another day? 

Great gifts for a baby-shower/ parenthood party

Here is a list of things that I think are fabulous gifts (and/or essential items) for a new family-to-be. 

• Massage/spa vouchers 
• Prosecco (although I do suppose any alcohol will do!) 
• Personalised babygros 
• Burts Bees products (brilliant stuff!) 
• Universal footmuff for a pram 
• Bath toys 
• Nappy bin (we love ours and it’s sooooo much easier) 
• Large cottonwool pads (they don’t disintegrate in the poo like the cottonwool balls do) 😳
• Clothing aged 6months+
• Mothercare giftcard
• Books (I love the ‘That’s not my…’ series)

My fears on travelling with a baby

We are going on our first family vacay in just over a fortnight’s time and cannot bloody wait!!

I am also terrified.

What do I need to pack? What do I need to organise? How much cash should I order? Can I take baby food onto the flight with me? If so, how much? Can I take the stroller to the gate? I hope the car seat we’ve rented is big enough? Should I sedate my child for the flight (something people keep telling me to do?!)? How many nappies do I need to take? How many changes of clothes do I need? How often will I get to do laundry? Do I want to do laundry whilst on holiday? Are the hotels I’ve booked child-friendly? Will my baby travel well? How many bottles of Calpol do I need? How long before the flight should I check in? What kinds of things should I pack for the flight?

At least I’ve got his passport. 

Pregnancy

Ever since I was a small child I’ve wanted to be pregnant. My Barbies spent most of their days ‘pregnant’, I would practice waddling like a heavily pregnant lady, and I was obsessed with bumps. I would just sit and stare at them in awe of the life that was being created within.

It was all I ever wanted to be. But the reality was SO much harder than I’d planned for.

When we found out, I was in such a state of shock I couldn’t function. We’d tried for so long to no avail so surely I was hallucinating?! This couldn’t be real?! But it was.

Like you see in the movies – I was floating about for weeks sooooo delighted with my little secret. I couldn’t believe there was a tiny baby hiding inside and it was just so delightful. The morning sickness was horrid, but I managed it – anything was worth it.

Then I reached 13 weeks and the morning sickness subsided. Yippee! Here’s to the second ‘better’ trimester! Or not….

I got sick. Really sick. My body started shutting down and refusing food. I was starving and anything I did manage to eat just caused me severe pain and I’d often spend hours retching and vomiting. What happened to my Hollywood pregnancy?! I thought I was meant to be glowing?! Everyone else I knew that was pregnant were looking fabulous and rushing about at a million miles an hour – I struggled to get up the stairs whilst clinging to the banister.

The lowest moment for me was when I’d been awake writhing in pain for 36 hours with my sides and back bruised from where my poor exhausted husband was trying to massage away the pain. They tried to admit me to hospital to NG-tube feed me as I was no longer getting nutrients to the baby. I couldn’t go back into hospital though – the thought made me shake. I couldn’t go back in – not when I was meant to be happy – I was supposed to be glowing didn’t they know?! And so I marched my stubbornness back home and continued to will myself to get better.

Luckily, at 23 weeks I seemed to reach the peak of my illness, and slowly but surely I started to get better. The worst of it was over, and despite from then on developing every other pregnancy ailment – including SPD (which gave me a ridiculously painful waddle – no need for my years of rehearsing!!) – I loved being pregnant. At eight months (photographed) I’d finally found my glow in pregnancy – I’d made it. I’d survived.

My memories of being pregnant are confusing. Laterly I loved it, but there were a few dark months where I questioned my sanity. So perhaps I don’t look back lovingly at the actual physicality of the longest 9 months of my life, which is a pity as I’d spent my entire life longing for it, but I still continue to love and cherish the theory of it. And so through even the darkest moments and the longest nights where I could hardly breath for the pain, I managed a little tiny smile – I was pregnant. And I loved it.